He hesitates. “We have a few options,” he says. “Some really nice bottles.”
“Just whatever’s good.” Some old guy glances at me and frowns. “Add a couple ice cubes in there too.”
The bartender grins at me and nods. He pours a glass, drops in the ice and makes a big show of it, and I drop a five into his tip jar.
“Did you know that he just added ice into a six hundred dollar per bottle glass of wine?”
I tilt my head toward the voice that just spoke as I turn away from the bar. I expect it to be that old guy, ready to scold me for having no taste and no class, which is a little bit true, but that’s nobody’s business but my own.
Instead, cold blue eyes stare back at me. I don’t speak as I take the man in.
He’s tall, over six feet, with a close-trimmed beard and full red lips. He’s handsome, incredibly handsome, and has to be in his thirties at most. He’s wearing a slim-cut suit that hugs his muscular frame and makes my heart beat faster. He almost stands out since he’s not wearing a tuxedo, but he manages to still fit in without any effort.
“I didn’t realize,” I say.
“It looks good though.” He moves past me, catches the bartender’s attention, and asks for what I’m having. The bartender laughs and pours a second, adding the ice at the end.
The man joins me and holds up his glass with a grin. “Cheers,” he says.
“Cheers.”
“I’m Josh.”
“Maggie.”
We shake hands and I note that his fingers are callused and his hand is huge.
“You just started a trend,” he says. “Either that or we’re about to get thrown out of here.”
“I think we’re probably about to get thrown out,” I say. “Quick, talk about the stock market.”
“Right, yes. Stocks and bonds.”
“Perfect. We’re fitting in already.”
He grins at me. “Listen, this is going to come off as really rude, but I gotta ask. What are you doing here?”
“That is incredibly rude,” I say, frowning at him. “My dad dragged me along.”
“Ah,” he says. “Trying to make himself seem like a family man, I guess?”
“I guess.” I shrug and sip my iced wine. “I have no clue what he’s trying to do. I don’t even know what this is.”
“Really?” He laughs softly. “This is one of the most high-powered gatherings in the region. Half these guys are CEOs of Fortune 500 companies.”
“Really?” I look around. “It’s just a bunch of old white guys.”
“Like I said.”
I laugh and shrug. “Well, whatever. I guess that makes more sense then.”
“Who’s your dad?”
“That guy over there,” I say, gesturing toward him. “He’s the one with the ill-fitting suit.”
“Ah,” Josh says, nodding. “Sure. I know him.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Bushings Telecom.”
“That’s the one.” I raise an eyebrow. “Now I guess it’s my turn to ask what you’re doing here.”
“I’m Josh Cork,” he says and pauses, like that’s supposed to mean something. When it doesn’t, he just laughs. “Shit, okay. Cork Electric. That’s my company.”
“Cork…” I frown at him. “Oh, no. I know who you are.”
“I bet you do.”
“You’re my dad’s competitor. Like, direct competitor.”
He grins at me. “That’s right.”
“I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Probably not.”
“Oh, god.” I look around and my dad’s staring over at us with a frown on his face. “I should go.”
“It was nice talking to you, Maggie Fyall,” he says.
I frown at him then walk off. I hurry over to my dad, trying to forget about that tall, handsome man.
My father owns a mid-sized regional telecom company. They provide internet and phone services to consumers and businesses, but the company’s been struggling these past few years. Dad managed to survive the lean years and now that there are only a handful of companies left, his is hanging on by a thread. Of the maybe ten left in the whole country, he’s number six or so.
And Cork Electric is number five.
Dad meets me halfway, a little smile on his face. “Were you talking to Josh Cork?” he asks.
I nod and gesture with my drink. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know I was talking with the enemy.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” he says, grinning. “Josh isn’t the enemy. Now his father, that old bastard, was my nemesis, God rest his soul.”
“So wait, you don’t hate Josh?” I ask. “I thought Cork Electric was your direct competitor.”
“They are, but…” He hesitates. “Look, honey. I brought you here for a reason. There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Discuss?” I frown at him. “I thought I was here for moral support.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“Okay.” I tilt my head. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Listen.” He looks a little sheepish. I’ve known my dad my whole life, which is how that sort of thing tends to go, and he’s never once seemed uncertain of anything. It’s a little off-putting. “You were just talking to your future husband.”